


You're Under My Skin

by blarfkey



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Belts as restraints, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Light Choking, Modern AU, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rivals to Lovers, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, bickering as foreplay, passive aggressive post it notes, rich boy vs poor farm girl, roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfkey/pseuds/blarfkey
Summary: For years Ellana has house-sat for Solas in the summer while he gallivants off to archeological dig sites. After each grueling year of university and then grad school, she's come to relish the peace and quiet of having the place to herself.And then Solas has to ruin it by inviting some random friend of his to stay. Ellana's prepared to kiss goodbye her solitude welcome him with good old fashioned Dalish hospitality -- until she meets him.Abelas is the strangest Dalish she's ever met and the biggest asshole she's ever dealt with. Their animosity sparks into an almost instant cold war that grows increasingly hotter.One thing's for certain: Either they'll find some way to hash it or Solas is going to come home to a crime scene.
Relationships: Abelas/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Abelas/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	You're Under My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WickedWitchoftheWilds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWitchoftheWilds/gifts).



_ Dear Ellana, _

_ I’m not quite sure if this is good or bad news. I have a friend, Abelas, who recently lost his home. I can get him back on his feet during the university fall semester but until then he has no place to stay. So I am sending him to my house. I know this disrupts your yearly house-sitting peace and tranquility, but he is in quite dire straits. _

_ He is a little . . .rough around the edges. Very guarded. But I think you two have a lot in common if you have the patience. However, if you do not wish to be in his company, just let me know. I can send you back home or put you up in a hotel the rest of the summer. _

_ Yours, _

_ Solas. _

  
  


Ellana reads and re-reads the email on her phone and tries to remain optimistic. She’s house-sat for Solas for almost six years, ever since her first summer after her freshman year in University. For years he had rented out his beautiful, immaculate house on the outskirts of Skyhold National Forest whenever he supervised archeological digs in the summers.

From growing up in a small Dalish town to living in the dorms at college, privacy and quiet has always been a scarcity, a luxury she values about just about anything else. So when Solas offered her the job after her first year, she jumped at the chance and even offered to do it for free.

Which he refused, of course. Ever since he showed up to uncover the ruins near Wycombe when she was fifteen he’s always found a way to take care of her.

But the weeks spent here to recharge after a grueling school year become more and more valuable the further along she gets and now that she’s finally in grad school working on her doctorate thesis, she thinks she’d go mad if she didn’t have this place.

If only Solas took her teenage joke proposals of marriage more seriously. Then she could have it all the time.

Well, he’s a friend of Solas’s and so far all the one’s she’s met at Skyhold University – Iron Bull, Dorian, Cass, Varric – all turned out great.

So how bad could this guy be?

  
  


Famous last words, and all that.

  
  


The sleek, silver car pulls into Solas’s wooded driveway around two that afternoon. Ellana spies it through the trees from the kitchen window and steps out onto the front patio to greet him.

The man who steps out of the backseat is tall, strikingly handsome, and  _ Dalish _ . Ellana has to click her mouth shut to keep it from falling open. When she first met Solas, he had been kind of an arrogant dick about Dalish culture, despite specializing in it. Well, he hadn’t considered her clans’ modern interpretations of whatever scraps they had kept for themselves over the centuries as Elven culture at all, but a pathetic mockery of what they all once had.

It took a few summers – and a bloody nose from a particularly nasty fight -- for him to value it as it deserved.

He has  _ never  _ mentioned having another Dalish friend.

“Hi,” she greets the man. “Do you need help carrying anything in?”

“No,” he says shortly with an begrudgingly added, “Thank you.”

Oh . . .kay.

He steps over to the trunk and pulls out two sleek suitcases and a leather overnight bag which he stubbornly carries it up the porch steps. Ellana grabs the door open for him, catching a whiff of cologne as he walks past her. The expensive kind. 

He is by far the fanciest Dalish elf she’s ever seen. It’s weirdly fascinating. Where did he get all this stuff? What did he come from?

“The second guest room is the third door on the left down that hall,” she says, following him inside and pointing him in the right direction. “Mine is the first door and the bathroom is in between. Solas’s room is at the end of the hall -- he’s got a master bath if you need it.”

“I see.” His eyes track over the hallway, glancing over framed photos and paintings, looking rather resigned. 

She always considered Solas rich beyond her wildest understandings, and she knows he chooses to live a more frugal life he technically needs to, but this man is looking down the modest and neat hallway like he set foot in some kind of cheap roadside motel. 

Seriously -- where did Solas find this guy?

“I’m Ellana,” she says, feeling weirdly awkward. “Ellana Lavellan.”

“Abelas,” he murmurs, not looking at her. 

She looks at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

He spares a quick glance over her way, as if she was an idiot. “Abelas. That’s my name.”

And then he ducks down the hallway and into his room.

Abelas. What a weird fucking elf.

He doesn’t emerge until later that afternoon while Ellana chops up bananas for a smoothie. She’s done her best to put all thoughts of his weirdness from her mind and enjoy her lazy summer morning just as she planned. Especially after her second grueling year of grad school, she deserves whatever solitude she can get and if his weird friend wants to ignore her, she’s perfectly fine with that. 

Still, her hospitality instincts kick in when she sees him wander into the kitchen and look rather helplessly around at the cabinets. 

“Cups are that top left cabinet,” she says, nodding over to it. “Plates are on the other side of the sink. All the pots and pans are on the left by the stove.”

“Thank you,” he says in that same begrudging tone she heard earlier. 

It grates on her at first, but she remembers how hard it is for Dalish to accept help, even from other Dalish. His pride might be all he has left, from what Solas has implied. 

She doesn’t know what his situation is, but at least he has one of his own with him. That might take the sting out a little.

“Solas didn’t tell me you were Dalish,” she says. “ _ Aneth Anara, Lethalin. _ ”

He freezes for a second and then slams the cabinet door shut. Anyone else would flinch at the flash of sudden fury in his eyes.

  
  


Ellana scans through Solas’s email again, just to make sure she didn’t miss anything – like  _ careful, my friend is a raging sociopath _

But nothing has changed –  _ guarded . . .rough around the edges . . .dire straits _ . . .

“Rough around the edges!?” she mutters to herself, clicking out of her email. “That’s putting it really fucking lightly,  _ Solas.” _

  
  


It becomes increasingly clear over the next two days that what he wants is – nothing. He moves around the house like a ghost. Occasionally he will take the keys to Solas’s car and disappear for a few hours and new groceries will appear in the kitchen. But he seems perfectly content to pretend as if she doesn’t exist and Ellana feels as grateful for it as she is insulted by it.

Still, she tries hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. Abelas is deeply, bitterly angry about something, that much is obvious. The few glimpses she does get from him, his eyes look stormy and haunted. She can guess that he might have been kicked out of his living situation, but of course she’s not going to ask him for details and Solas hasn’t sent any other emails.

Part of her is deeply, desperately curious about him. She’s always felt this way about quiet, reserved people. It’s what caused her to follow Solas around like a lost foal when he first appeared. Maybe if she knew his struggles, she could find a way to help him.

So the fourth day since his arrival, Ellana spies some fresh apples on the counter, rolls up her sleeves, and makes cinnamon apple tarts from scratch, just the way her Keeper taught her. After a couple hours, the mouthwatering smell of them baking fills the house and eventually draws Abelas from his room, stepping into the kitchen with nearly silent footfalls.

Ellana hides a smirk – no one can resist this smell. She once drew Josephine out of a two day depression spiral from her first failed test with these tarts.

“Apple tart?” she asks, nodding over to the pile of them cooling on the baking sheet.

His eyes flicker over to them and then rove the counter as if searching for something.

“What apples did you use?” he demands, brow furrowing.

“The . . . ones on the counter?”

“So you used  _ my _ apples for your baking experiments? Did it not occur to you to  _ ask _ me for them?”

“Ask you?” Her eyebrows climb up to her hairline practically. “To use  _ apples _ . They were sitting on the counter!”

“I fail to see where I placed them to be relevant to your theft?”

“ _ Theft _ . You’re fucking kidding me, right? I didn’t see your name on it. If something’s on the counter, it’s free to anybody!”

“Perhaps where  _ you _ come from people put their hands on everyone else’s things, but I assure that is not how I was raised. I bought these apples, ergo they are  _ mine _ . I could put them on the roof and the ownership doesn’t change. This is not a communal kitchen,  _ Lavellan _ . You touch and consume what you bought for yourself and that’s it.”

“Where  _ I _ come from? I dont’ know if you looked in the mirror lately, but you and I didn’t grow up that differently --  _ lethalin _ .”

“Let us get one thing clear – I am not like you,” he hisses, his voice deep and low and almost feral. “I am  _ nothing _ like you. I am not your kin and you will  _ never _ call me that word again.”

“So . . .what, that tattoo is for kicks?” she asks. “You got drunk and thought it looked cool?”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’s seen it, but she can tell by its color and intricacy that it’s real. 

“What I am is none of your business and not for you to speculate.”

“Speculate! You can’t hide being Dalish under those fancy clothes and rich perfume. What is there to  _ speculate? _ ”

“Your hardscrabble upbringing in some backwoods Dalish hellscape cannot possibly compare to mine. You might as well be from the  _ moon _ . We are not the same,  _ Lavellan, _ and you will dare not to presume such a thing again.”

Ellana has had a reputation from a young age to deck people first and ask questions later. But the sheer  _ audacity _ of this, the staggering arrogance a hundred times worse than Solas in their early days, leaves her frozen in shock. 

She lets him walk off without sparing her another glance, as if she were as insignificant as a fly. 

And the worst part – he doesn’t even take one. He just turns on his heel and leaves, as if she’s not worthy of any acknowledgment now that his lecture has finished.

So Ellana eats them all, even though it made her lay down in her own bedroom, feeling faintly sick.

She pulls up her email app on her phone and starts typing

  
  


_ Solas – _

_ Ok, what the fuck. Seriously, what the fuck is up with this dude? Is he a sociopath? Is he on the run from the law? You said he was “rough around the edges” which is BULLSHIT. He’s a bigger dick about the Dalish than you were and he’s DALISH. Or not, according to him. I called him Lethalin and he acted like it was the deepest insult to his honor to be associated with us. _

_ I think I was owed a bigger warning about this bastard. And more of an explanation – I need a good reason not to kill him by the end of the summer. _

  
  


To her surprise, she got a reply back later that evening.

  
  


_ Dear Ellana, _

_ I do sincerely apologize for not giving you enough warning. Abelas has . . .always been prickly and difficult, though there is goodness underneath it all. I did not realize his attitude towards you would be quite so vehement, but I had suspicions, which is precisely why I offered you other living arrangements if he got to be too much. You certainly don’t deserve his abuse, though I think it might be good for him to have the sort of reckoning you and I did all those years ago. _

_ As far as his situation goes, I am not at liberty to reveal much. Only that he has no where else to go. _

_ You know where the emergency credit card is – feel free to take off wherever you wish for the remainder of the summer – perhaps a five star resort near Josephine in Antiva? Consider it my penance. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Solas. _

  
  


Ellana knows exactly where that card is. And the next afternoon finds her sitting on the dock by the river nearby, fiddling with it as she talks to Dorian on the phone.

“Darling, you don’t need that silly card. Just come stay with me! I’ll take us both to Antiva – though it’s unbearably humid this time of year and you know what that does to my hair.”

Gods above, it’s so tempting. But part of Ellana rebels at the thought.

"And let him think he can scare me off and get the house to himself? No fucking way."

"So you're going to suffer this man for the whole summer out of spite?" Dorian asks skeptically.

He’s right to question her sanity. But call it stubbornness or sheer idiocy – her resolve crystallizes in her chest and she knows she’s not going anywhere.

"You're godsdamn right I am. That bastard’s going to have to put up with me whether he likes it or not.”

Dorian sighs. “Why does this turn of events not surprise me in the slightest?”

  
  
  
  


She almost doesn’t see the first post-it note before she dumps the dregs of yesterday’s coffee over it. Her hand jerks to a stop, coffee sloshing in the canister, when she catches sight of the pale blue paper sitting innocently on top of the frying pan she used last night.

_ Please clean up after yourself so others do not feel compelled to do so _

The handwriting is in flawless cursive, almost too curly to be legible.

Ellana rolls her eyes and crumples the post-it into a ball before throwing it in the trash.

  
  


The second note shows up the next day on one of her leftovers in the fridge.

_ This has been here three days. Please eat it or throw it away so others can fit their groceries in the refrigerator. _

Like the first time, Ellana rolls her eyes and throws it in the garbage. The leftovers are technically still good. Are the odds of her eating it high? No. But something in her can’t bear to waste food that’s technically still good so she leaves it.

  
  


After that they start showing up everywhere and they get less and less polite.

_ The thermostat should never be above seventy degrees. _

_ Other people have need of the washer and dryer – remember to empty it as soon as you’re finished. _

_ Do NOT put the volume of the television above thirty five _

  
  


The sheer cowardice of such passive aggression pisses her off more than the contents of the notes themselves. For the next few days, Ellana pins them on his bedroom door when she walks past it but otherwise refuses to acknowledge them or follow his instructions.

Gods, she’d love it if he actually dared to pick a fight with her, but the man hides in his room or in the attic library and avoids her as much as possible. And in turn, Ellana’s taken to spending more time outside, hiking around the woods or swimming or reading out on the deck.

She thought they’d play this ridiculous game until Solas returned but one afternoon her reading gets interrupted by a cascade of brightly colored post-its.

Ellana jerks up and twists around in her seat to see Abelas holding a trashcan above her head, expression thunderous.

“Did they teach you how to read where came from, Serah?” he asks her coldly.

Something sparks to life in her, fizzing through her bloodstream. It’s not exactly anger – well there’s definitely anger -- but also something else. A thrill, adrenaline, like the kind she gets cliff diving as she’s toeing the edge of the abyss.

Despite her general easy-going demeanor, nothing gets her energized more than a good fight.

“Nope,” she says, popping the p obnoxiously as she rises to her feet. “I’m getting my doctorate through guesswork and bullshit alone. Did they ever teach you how to have grown up conversations where  _ you _ come from? Because this?” she holds up one of the post-it notes. “This is childish.”

His eyes flash in rage and it feels like scoring a point in air hockey.

“Childish? It’s unobtrusive and  _ considerate _ .”

“It’s cowardice.”She crosses her arms over her chest. “Real grown ups have these conversations face to face.”

“If you want it face to face, I will gladly give it to you.” He leans forward, grey eyes shining in his self-righteous fury. “The thermostat does not rise below seventy degrees, the volume on the television does not rise above thirty five, you will empty the washer and dryer promptly when your clothes are finished, and you will keep the sink clear of your filth. Do I  _ make myself clear? _ ”

Gods above, look at him. He’s so sure of himself, so hyped up on his own righteous fury, and he has no idea how fucking stupid he sounds right now. She wants desperately to laugh in his face, but instead she swallows her giggles down.

“Crystal,” she says. “But you forgot one very important thing?”

“And what is that?”

“You're not my dad and you’re not my Keeper and so therefore –” she reaches out and boops him on the nose with her finger, “ – you aren’t the boss of me.”

And then she takes herself and her book into the kitchen, leaving him standing there to stew in his own outrage, like a robot that’s overheated. She takes a glass and fills it with water from the tap, leaning against the counter and watching him through the screen door.

It takes him a few moments to reboot and then he turns jerkily to the door and storms his way back in. She rests the side of her glass against her cheek as he crosses the living room and past the breakfast bar in long strides.

She’s ready for anything. Except maybe explaining to Solas why his friend got the shit beat out of him.

But Abelas doesn’t lay a finger on her. No, he’s too classy for a brawl. He stops inches away from her, close enough for her to smell Solas’s shampoo from his long white braid. A blush spreads across his pale cheeks and up to the pointed tips of his ears.

He looks  _ alive _ for the first time.

“If it is a war you want,  _ Serah _ , it is a war you shall have,” he murmurs, deadly quiet.

Only he could make a respectful title sound so deeply insulting.

Something flutters in her stomach – anticipation. It makes her do something strange and stupid – she leans in that last bit of distance until her nose almost touches his.

“Bring it,  _ Abelas _ .”

She drags his name out like an obscenity. The use of his given name always sends a flash of fury through his eyes, like she’s besmirching some kind of honor not yet bestowed on her. It doesn’t fail her this time, either. This close she can practically feel his sharp intake of outrage.

The urge to kiss him takes her sharp and sudden. He steps back before she can do something stupid and actually act on it, thank the fucking Creators. Without another word, Abelas backs away and leaves, his footfalls nearly silent on the plush carpet past the kitchen.

Ellana closes her eyes and chugs the rest of her water, as if she could wash down whatever fucking insanity just cropped up then?

Kissing Abelas? What the  _ fuck _ ?

Though it’d be almost worth it just to see the horrified expression on his face. If he ever starts getting the upper hand in an argument – she might consider it.

Maybe.

Purely to shut him up.

  
  


Abelas promised her a war and boy did he deliver. She finds her wet laundry on the floor beside the dryer when she comes in to switch it over. He walks in on an episode of the Great Orlesian Bake Off, grabs the remote, and mutes the television. Then he  _ leaves, with the remote in hand _ without a single word to her.

She comes back from a long hike in the humid, mid summer heat to find the house sweltering with the AC shut off completely. Well, the thermostat reads 74 degrees, but she just sweated her ass off for two hours and the thought of stepping into that first blast of cold AC (a luxury she never had growing up) kept her going the last twenty minutes when she felt like collapsing.

Only a cold shower gives her any relief and she spends it planning revenge.

  
  


She plans a meticulous grocery list and cooks lavish meals with more leftovers than she could eat, but packs them away in containers and uses the rest of the post it notes to write her name on every single one of them.

Abelas can cook – surprisingly – but he’s not as good as her. She can tell from the way he lingers, smelling the food, when he gets a drink or puts his dishes in the dishwasher. So it’s sickening pleasure to dump the leftovers she didn’t eat in time in the trash while he’s there to watch her.

She jacks the volume of the TV up as far as she can stand it and then takes the batteries out of the remote and hides them in her sports bra when he comes in to mute it. The look he shoots her is positively  _ murderous _ and it sends a strange thrill up her spine.

The thermostat swings wildly between 60 (the lowest she can get it) and the 80s when he shuts it off. The next time she returns from another hike to a living room baked by the afternoon sun, Ellana yanks the ceiling fan on and peels off her t-shirt, lying in the floor in just her sports bra and shorts.

“ . . . _ What _ are you doing?”

Abelas stands by the couch, his polished wingtip shoes the only part in her vision.

“Cooling off,” she says. “Since  _ someone _ cut the thermostat off.”

“The temperature currently reads seventy seven – which is a perfectly mild temperature.”

“Yeah if you’ve been sitting on your ass all day.”

She waits for his retort but instead a strange, tense silence settles over them. Her graze travels up the long line of his body to his face, surprised to see him staring over at a fixed point on the wall, his jaw tense.

It’s almost like . . .

Did she hurt his feelings?

Ellana sits up for a better look and this motion snaps him out of whatever thought had gripped him. His eyes glance over at her, dipping down from her face to her chest just the briefest moment before snapping away.

Then he turns and walks away without another word, leaving her feeling strangely bereft.

  
  


So he totally checked her out. That little dip of his gaze before he walked out, that totally counted, right?

At night Ellana jacks the temperature down and mid morning Abelas shuts the AC off almost as steady as clockwork. So she starts wearing just her sports bra and shorts or leggings around the house all the time in protest.

And to see, maybe, if she can catch him again.

The first time he catches her without a shirt, he’s head deep in the refrigerator looking for his leftovers that Ellana hid behind the milk and juice cartons in the very back.

“ _ On Dhea _ ,” she says, sliding past him to get to the sink.

She speaks Elvhen to him every opportunity she gets, just to drive home the shared origins they have that he wants so desperately to deny.

He does not respond – he never does when she speaks Elvhen. She grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it at the sink, sipping on it while she watches him become more and more frustrated. Finally he starts stacking things from the fridge onto the counter until he finds it.

“Did you touch my food?” he demands.

“Nope,” she lies, taking another long sip.

“ _ Liar,” _ he hisses, jerking his head out of the fridge to glare at her. “Don’t you ever –”

He stops abruptly, gaze locked on her bare torso. Ellana raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t ever what?” she asks.

But her cheeks are going warm under the intensity of his scrutiny.

“Nothing,” he snaps, jerking his gaze from her.

Ellana smirks into her glass as he angrily returns the contents of the fridge and avoids her entirely.

His cheeks are pink.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Watch the  _ Haunting of the Hill _ Krem said.  _ It’s not that scary _ Krem said.  _ The story is really interesting! _ Krem fucking said.

What a goddamn liar.

Well, the story is definitely compelling which is the only reason why she’s still binging this show at one in the morning. The storm lashing at the sliding doors only adds to the creepy atmosphere of the show, despite the warm glow of the lamp beside her.

Just as Ellana thinks of prepping the coffee maker because clearly she isn’t going to get much sleep tonight, a bright flash of light blinds her, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it shakes the house. She screams bloody murder, an involuntary reflex, just as the house falls in total darkness.

For a long, agonizing moment she sits in the dark with her chest heaving, trying to unhook her imagination from the last terrifying six hours to reality.

The storm must have cut the power off.

Fucking godsdamn fuck.

She slaps herself lightly on the cheek and forces herself to get up, stumbling around the furniture to head towards the basement where Solas keeps the generator.

Thank the gods she’s stayed at this house for several years. Ellana cautiously navigates by memory alone into the hallway, her hand sliding down the wall in search of the door handle to the closet. Being so far out in the woods means she has nothing, not even street lights, to guide her way.

So focused on her goal, she heard, but didn’t register, the soft footfalls in front of her until her body collides with something tall and broad –

All she can think about is that  _ thing _ that lived under The Hill in the TV show and her screams echo in the hallway, her arms flailing in front of her in a panicked, jerky combination of a punch and a shove that accomplishes neither.

Strong hands wrap around her wrists and hold her still.

“ _ Ellana _ !” Abelas’s voice thunders and she’s relieved, she’s so fucking relieved. “It’s just me,” he adds softly.

Heart roaring in her ears, Ellana presses her forehead against his shoulder, taking in deep gulps of air. She uses the smell of his cologne and soap, the softness of his t-shirt against her forehead, the heat of him seeping through to ground her.

He holds preternaturally still, hands still gripping her wrists, as she calms down.

“You scared the  _ shit _ out of me,” she gasps.

“So it would seem,” he says dryly.

She pulls away, squinting in the dark to see him but she can only feel his mass in front of her.

“Sorry. I guess I’m jumpy from this storm.”

“And from that ridiculous show you insist on watching.”

She winces in embarrassment, grateful he can’t see her expression. “Yeah. That too. I know it’s not real, but . . .”

The shame rises up to heat her cheeks. Gods, he must think her so stupid and childish getting scared over a horror show at her age, letting her imagination get the best of her.

“ . . .it feels that way in the moment,” he finishes, sounding almost . . .kind.

He is still holding onto her wrists, but the grip has softened. She makes no move to pull away and he makes no move to release her.

For a long moment they stand at an impasse. Then the light in the hallway flickers on as the generator kicks in. Abelas stands only inches away, his braid messy from sleep, barefoot and clad soft dark sleep pants and a slightly wrinkled t-shirt. It’s her first glimpse of him looking anything less than pristine and it sends a sudden stab of desire in her that she shoves away almost immediately.

He drops her hands from his, as if she burned him, as if he too hadn’t noticed their prolonged contact.

“My apologies,” he murmurs.

“You mean  _ abelas? _ ” she teases gently, trying to swallow the urge to tangle their fingers back together.

He snorts – the hint of the possibility of laughter.

“I suppose the electricity has been returned,” he says instead.

“It’s the generator. I’ll call the electric company tomorrow. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. Sleep is . . .elusive at times.”

She thinks of how loud the jump-scares sounded and winces. Maybe he does have a point about the tv volume.

“Good night,” he says, stepping back.

“ _ On Nyda _ .”

  
  


Their little banter is all fun and games until Ellana’s late to movie night with Cassandra and Josephine because Abelas has been in the shower for the last  _ hour _ . Ellana paces by the bathroom, debating on sneaking into Solas’s master bath and seeing if the hot water tank can handle dueling showers. But she always feels weird about encroaching in his personal space, especially when he’s not here.

Just when she starts wondering if he had a heart attack or something has been lying dead at the bottom of the shower all this time, the water shuts off and moments later, the door wrenches open.

A cloud of steam engulfs her like fog, sending her coughing. Abelas materializes in it, wrapped in nothing but his towel, hair loose and dripping down his chest –

His broad, tattooed chest. His broad, tattooed chest that tapers down to a trim waist and lean muscles and now Ellana is the one staring, her face flaming, eyes tracking the riverlet of water sliding down from his collarbones.

Holy shit.

Holy  _ shit _ .

“Are you going to move?” he snaps impatiently.

Ellana realizes, to her utter humiliation, that she’s been standing in the doorway and  _ staring _ for gods only know how long.

“What the fuck were you doing in there?” she demands, stepping quickly to the side and waving the steam from her face in an effort not to look at him.

“It’s a bathroom. I assume you can jump to the proper conclusions.”

“For an  _ hour _ ? I thought I was going to have to call a fucking ambulance!”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Which must come as a disappointment to you,” he says before heading down the hallway to his room.

Perfectly fine. Godsdamn him, but he is.

A moment later all thoughts of his attractive feature swirl down the drain, along with the barely lukewarm water that quickly turns freezing.

It’s the fastest shower of her life and she spends the entire time hating him, looks be damned.

  
  


It happens three times in the next week. Ellana has a routine – she wakes up between seven and eight, she eats her breakfast, she has a shower around ten – he  _ knows _ this.

What the fuck does he  _ do _ for an hour? He wants to use all the hot water – fine. Her showers take like ten minutes. He can slip in after her and bathe the whole godsdamn day if he wanted to. But no. He times it just right so he slips in before her.

So she slips in earlier. The alarm goes off and she slides out of bed and straight into the shower. Hell, she sits on the toilet seat and reads and leaves it running while her hair dries in  _ his _ towel.

Then she starts hearing the shower turn on just after sunrise, before her alarm goes off, and what the ever-loving, godsdamn  _ fuck _ .

So she starts waiting until she hears the bathroom door close before sneaking to Solas’s room to his master bath.

_ Sorry Solas, _ she thinks to him, careful not to disturb his things. She steps inside the shower and rinses her hair (Solas doesn’t have shampoo, which is an obvious fact she did not think of) and washes before stepping back out and jacking the water temperature as hot as she can make it.

To her smug satisfaction, his shower ends only ten minutes later.

  
  


“ _ What _ did you  _ do _ ?”

Ellana looks up from the cup of coffee she’s nursing. “What do you mean?”

Due to overexposure, she’s become immune to the Abelas Glare. Still, he trains it on her, arms crossed over his chest, still dressed in his pajamas and that’s how she can tell he’s definitely pissed.

“The  _ water _ . What did you do to it? It’s not warm, and yet you haven’t showered.”

Ellana freezes. Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good. After a week of running the hot water out on him, Abelas has finally limited his shower time to something much more reasonable. Ellana hasn’t set foot in Soals’s room for at least three days.

“What was the last time you showered?” she asks instead.

“What did you  _ do _ , Lavellan?” he growls.

“Nothing! I swear to gods! I think something fucked up.”

She sets her coffee down and heads to the basement to inspect the hot water tank. Abelas follows her, hot on her heels, practically tapping his feet as she looks it over.

“You said you had no hot water at all?” she asks. “How long did you let it run for?”

“Several minutes,” he replies tersely.

“It sounds like the internal thermostat’s fucked.”

She starts compiling a mental list of tools she’ll need as she checks over the tank.

“ . . .this is our doing, is it not?” Abelas says quietly.

Ellana winces. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Are there funds for a repairman?”

“You mean, did Solas leave anything? I mean, I have his credit card. But we won’t need it. I can fix this. I just gotta run down town and get the part.”

“ _ You _ ? What do you know about this?”

She ignores the derision in his voice and heads over to the tool bench across the room. “It’s not rocket science. Don’t worry, I’ll save the day and we can both look Solas in the eye when he comes back.”

  
  


It takes longer to drive to the hardware store than it is to find the part she needs. The workers know better than to disturb her by now with well-intentioned offers of help. When she returns, Abelas has showered and dressed, presumably braving the cold water, and she smirks on the inside.

It’s what he deserves, after all. He started it.

Once again he follows her into the basement, as if she needs his expert supervision to fix something as simple as the thermostat on a water tank. Ellana rolls her eyes and ignores him, setting her tools on the washer and dryer nearby, and getting to work.

He stands so quietly, offering no remarks on her work, that she forgets he’s there after a while.

“How do you know how to do this?” he asks, startling her so bad she nearly drops the wire cutters.

“This is definitely not the first tank I’ve fixed,” she says. “Where I grew up – in my backwoods hillbilly hellscape – what isn’t handmade is old. Except the old stuff was built to last longer so it’s more efficient to fix the parts that break than to replace it with something that won’t last as long or do as good a job. My dad taught me how to fix all kinds of things. Stuff like this sounds harder than it is.”

“I see.”

He says nothing again for a long time, but now she can feel his eyes on her. Still, despite his scrutiny, she finishes the job and screws back on the covering.

“Lets see if it worked,” she says, getting to her feet.

He follows her like a ghost back up the stairs to the kitchen and watches her turn on the hot water in the kitchen sink. After about a minute the cool water turns hot and she grins triumphantly at him.

“Alright, Abelas. You can take your hour-long showers again.”

He does not look happy at her victory. Instead, his expression seems rather . . wistful?

“You think I look down on your upbringing, but the truth is that I’m quite jealous,” he admits quietly.

She reaches over and turns the water off, taken aback at his admission. “ _ Jealous _ ?”

He gestures at her. “You are prepared for whatever life sends your way. You are self-reliant and independent. You need no one. I thought of myself the same but I realized how very wrong that assumption is. . . .and also how wrong it was to disparage you. We are not the same but you might be the better off for it.”

It's probably as close to a real apology as she’ll ever get, and part of her feels incredibly touched by it. 

“It’s not hard to learn these things,” she says. “I can always teach you.”

For some reason the remark she made that day, lying on the living room floor with her shirt off, sparks in her memory

_ Yeah if you’ve been sitting on your ass all day. _

Now she thinks she understands the look on his face when she said it. But she’s not sure what to make the expression he wears now, soft and a little unsure.

“Why do you enjoy provoking me?” he asks quietly.

_ Because it’s the only time I see you _ . _ Because its the only thing that makes you look alive. _

The words fly into her throat and she has to snap her teeth shut to keep them from flying out.

The truth of them startles her. She doesn’t have time to analyze it so she swallows them back down.

“Because I’m bored,” she says instead.

His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite believe her.

“Perhaps the both of us could find some other way of entertaining ourselves until Solas returns besides this pointless conflict.”

“You . . . want a truce?” Her eyebrows raise.

“A ceasefire might be accurate. At least we can say we made an attempt.”

A ceasefire. The thought almost disappoints her. Some fucked up part of her enjoys riling him up, watching those eyes spark to life. Nothing else seems to get to him – he rejects kindness or generosity or any overtures of friendship. But locking himself up in his own head isn’t good for him either.

However, they can’t keep breaking Solas’s stuff out of their own pettiness. The water tank was easily fixed but next time they might not be so lucky.

“Alright.” She extends her hand. “But you have to shake on it.”

His eyes dart down to her hand and she expects him to scoff or make some remark about sullying himself by touching her. Instead he slowly takes her hand in his, grip firm but not the I’m An Asshole Who Has To Prove Himself kind of firm. Something flutters in her chest at the feel of his smooth, uncalloused hand in hers.

She forces herself to let go precisely because she doesn’t want to.

  
  


To her surprise, the ceasefire goes surprisingly well. Ellana keeps the TV volume below 35. Abelas leaves apples on the counter with a note saying she is free to help herself to them. When she bakes another set of tarts, he eats two and compliments her.

Their showers stay under twenty minutes.

Sometimes she will catch sight of him reading on the patio while she watches reruns of the Great Orlesian Bake Off.

It’s not like they became best friends overnight. Abelas still keeps mostly to himself and their conversation exists only as brief snatches as they pass each other in the kitchen or the hallway

But she can tell he’s making an effort to be civil and not such a control freak and so she curbs the urge to push his buttons intentionally.

So she doesn’t remark on the fact that he lingers longer and longer in the hallway to catch glimpses of the show until he stands there for three fourths of the episode.

“You gonna sit down or lurk like a weirdo?” she asks, pausing it.

“I – I wasn’t watching,” he protests.

She just levels a skeptical look over her shoulder.

“I have no time for this nonsense,” he amends.

“They just started judging the final round. You might as well finish it.”

But she doesn’t push. Instead she unpauses the show and ignores him entirely as he slowly makes his way to the couch. She’s realized that Abelas is kind of like a cat – you can’t acknowledge his presence if you want any kind of attention.

They finish the episode in almost companionable silence.

It’s almost nice.

  
  


Of course, their peace could not last forever. Ellana kind of doesn’t want it to. It’s peaceful but boring and that’s the only explanation for what happens this morning when she steps out into the kitchen where Abelas is fixing a mug of tea. He looks up from the cabinet that houses the loose tea (Solas is too fancy for tea bags) and freezes.

“What are you  _ wearing _ ?”

Ellana looks down at the soft grey undershirt she put on.

“It’s a t-shirt,” she says.

It’s  _ his _ t-shirt. She could tell immediately from the soft cotton weave of it, how expensively, sinfully luxurious it felt on her skin right after her shower. Somehow their laundry must have gotten mixed up – maybe he left it in the dryer.

She honestly didn’t think he’d notice. Or maybe she hoped he would stare at her all day and wonder with narrowed eyes if that was his shirt or not.

“It’s  _ my _ t-shirt,” he snaps.

She looks down and plucks at the hem, feigning confusion. “Oh? Is it? I didn’t notice. I guess the laundry got mixed up.”

“How do you not know when something isn’t yours?”

She shrugs. “I steal clothes all the time. Back in my clan we just passed stuff around.”

“This isn’t your clan,” he growls, slamming the cabinet door shut. “You will respect my things. I’m not a communal charity, Lavellan. Now give it back.”

Merciful fucking Creators, she actually  _ missed _ this. And judging by how quickly he dove into this ridiculous argument, she suspects he missed it too. What is wrong with her? What is wrong with the both of them?

“Alright, okay, Abelas. I’ll wash it and give it back. I’ll even read the washing instructions rather than throw everything in one pile,” she adds with a teasing grin, just to watch him wince.

“Absolutely not. I would trust you to wash the rags someone cleans their car with, much less a garment of this quality. I want it back  _ now.” _

“Now? Like right now?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit of a forward request, don’t you think?”

He rolls his eyes. “As if you don’t prance around here half clothed in your sports bra nearly every day as it is. Please. Lets not pretend you have any delicate sensibilities.”

Ellana looks at the flash of fury in his eyes and weighs her options. One one hand, keeping the shirt and insinuating his request is creepy or ungentlemanly would drive him wild. Making him watch her wear it the rest of the day before she deposits it on the floor in front of his bedroom door would make him  _ feral. _

On the other hand . . . she’s not wearing her sports bra this morning. Or any bra.

Something about this man makes her reckless. She doesn’t understand it and she doesn’t really want to.

“Ok,” she says with an elaborate shrug. “You can have it back.”

Then she peels off the shirt in one fluid motion and holds it out for him, completely bare from the waist up.

She can watch the flush work its way from the tips of his ears down the column of his throat. Ellana tries to keep her nerves in check, doing her best to look confident and unaffected when she’s screaming on the inside. Truth be told, she does not dance naked under the moonlight the way everyone thinks the Dalish do. The only person who have seen her naked past childhood have been scant few she’s had sex with.

His eyes drag over her form, and it feels like an electric current, a thrumming under her skin at his attention. He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing, and she unconsciously copies the gesture.

“Are you going to take it or not?” she asks, voice a little hoarse.

That snaps him from his staring and he jerks his gaze to her face, eyes burning in cold fury. He darts a hand out to snatch it from her fingers and she tightens her grip for a moment, pulling him closer, unable to let this moment go.

“Do you think it’s funny to push me with no thought for consequences?”

Ellana almost has to laugh. “What consequences? What are you going to do – leave post-it notes on your clothes? Do you want to put one on my chest?”

“You mistake my politeness for meekness when it is restraint.”

This time she does laugh, a sound sharpened by the strange adrenaline fizzing in her veins.

“ _ Restraint?  _ You’re so full of shit. What would losing control even look like for you?”

“Consider your next words carefully, Lavellan, or you are going to find out,” he says with deadly quiet.

It’s almost intimidating. Maybe if Ellana was any other person, it would be.

Instead she steps closer to him, invading his precious personal space bubble, until their breaths mingle in the scant inches between them. Something wild and feral coils in her, waiting for the right moment to spring loose.

“Maybe I want to find out,” she replies just as quietly. “Maybe I don’t think you have the  _ guts _ .”

She has no idea how he will react to this level of provocation. But when he twists his fingers savagely in her hair and yanks her into a kiss more teeth than lips, it's exactly what she’s  _ hoping _ for.

That wild thing in her chest springs loose, battering itself against the cage of her chest, tearing through her veins.  _ Yes yes yes! _ All this time she thought he’d snap and start a brawl but this is so much better --

He jerks back just as suddenly, eyes wide like a startled horse. The shirt falls to the floor, discarded by the both of them.

“I –”

He wants to backpedal, she can see it in his face, and it makes the thing in her chest howl in protest. Ellana surges forward, hands fisted in his shirt, and captures his mouth in another brutal kiss.

It’s a spark on dry kindling. Any pretense of not wanting this disintegrates as Abelas shoves her backwards with surprising strength. Her back hits the wall in the hallway with enough force to send the picture frame next to her teetering dangerously. His body cages around her, as broad as Solas in the shoulders (not that she’s looked), hands gripped tightly around her waist. She could probably get away if she wanted to – she doesn’t want to.

They kiss with savage delight, with teeth, their battle of wills carried over in this. His tongue forces its way in to plunder her mouth and she sucks down on it hard enough to make him growl in the back of his throat.

He pulls his mouth from her lips. Her whine of protest turns into a sharp, guttural moan as he sucks down on her neck just below her ear, teeth scraping over the skin. His hips jerk into hers, the hard length of his dick pressed against the thin fabric of her leggings, and her legs part instinctively so he can slide his thigh between.

It takes all her self control not to grind against him like an animal.

“This is your last moment to walk away,” he whispers against her ear.

_ As if _ . A herd of wild Halla wouldn’t tear her away from this moment.

“This is your last moment to chicken out,” she says in return.

His teeth close around her earlobe and she gasps.

“So be it, Lavellan.”

Then he renews his assault on her neck, sucking bruising kisses down to her collarbones. His fingers slide up her waist to cup her breasts, giving a sharp pinch at her nipples that knocks the breath out of her. He does it again, this time simultaneously sinking his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. It hurts in a deliciously fizzy way, pain and pleasure swirling together to make something heady and strange.

It’s tempting to lean back and let him ravage her in a way he has  _ clearly _ thought about before, but Ellana always gives as good as she gets. She releases her tight fisted grip on his shirt and skates down his broad torso to cup him through his jeans.

(She swallows hard at the bulk of him).

In the next moment Abelas’s hands dart down to wrap tightly around her wrists, slamming them against the wall on either side of her head.

“ _ You do not touch _ ,” he growls.

She swallows hard at the command, at the sharp tone of his voice, a sharp jolt of desire hitting her right between the legs.

“Why not? Afraid I’ll see how much you want me?”

“Shut up,” he hisses.

Oh, did she hit a sore spot? She pursues it ruthlessly, like digging a thumb into a bruise.

“How long Abelas? How many times have you thought about fucking me while pretending you hate me?”

“I said  _ shut. up _ .”

“ _ Make me _ .”

He releases the grip on her wrists only to wrap his long fingers around her throat and squeeze. It’s not enough to completely constrict her airflow but her hand scrabbles on his forearm in an instinctual panic.

She’s too distracted to notice his other hand sliding down to her leggings, sliding his hand underneath the elastic hem and cotton underwear to stroke her over her slick folds.

A gasp chokes in her throat.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, “and I haven’t even touched you. Perhaps I should be the one asking how often you’ve thought of me.”

His finger slips between her lips, dipping close to her entrance and Ellana squirms in his grip. The huff of his satisfaction drives her almost feral with an intoxicating mixture of anger and desire and you know what – two can play that fucking game.

Her hands dive down to his jeans and grinds the heel of her hand slowly over his erection.She revels in the intense satisfaction of watching him hiss sharply, eyes shut tight, for a glorious moment before he jerks his hand from her pants to grab her wrist in another tight grip.

Tomorrow she’ll have bruises.

“ _ What did I say? _ ” he snaps, eyes blazing.

“If I can’t touch then neither should you,” she spits.

Abelas leans his full weight against her, trapping her arm between them and pressing her tightly against the wall, the luxurious fabric of his shirt rubbing against her nipples. His other hand still keeps its grip on her throat. The heat of him bleeds into her and makes her shiver.

“You gave up any upper hand you have in this when you refused to walk away,” he whispers.

“The hell I did,” she hisses, trying to buck him off, hand braced on his shoulder.

But for a spoiled rich boy, he has incredible strength and her efforts just result in budging him a scant couple of inches before he bears back down on her with a torturous press of his thigh against her clit. She bites her lip to keep the whimper from getting loose.

“I thought you said you were strong,” he says mockingly and she desperately wants to hit him.

“ _ Fuck you _ .”

“Oh I intend to.”

She shoves hard against him, with everything she has, and it sends him stumbling a few steps backwards. But then she stalls, unable to figure out what she wants next, and Abelas uses that opportunity to spin her roughly around by her shoulders, twisting one of her arms behind her, and shoving her face first back into the wall. Only her other hand catches her and prevents her from busting her nose.

His erection presses obscenely against the thin fabric of her leggings and it takes all her self control not to push back against it.

Every nerve is alight, adrenaline and arousal like jet fuel in her veins. Ellana grew up always spoiling for a fight but she’s never fought quite like this and the thrill of it feels exhilarating, even as he infuriates her with every word.

“Didn’t you grow up on a farm or some-such?” he says hotly against her neck. “Didn’t you brag about how your backwoods upbringing prepared you better than my spoiled, pampered childhood? And yet look at you struggle.”

Despite her desperate arousal, fear flickers in her chest. If it came to a knockout, drag out fight, Ellana would win. She’d bet real money Abelas has never punched someone in his life, despite his obvious gym membership. But pinned against the wall like this she has no way to get free.

This whole thing careened wildly from laundry to borderline fucking real fast. If Abelas decides to take it further than she wants to go, will she have no choice but to endure it?

Her limbs stiffen at the thought and it doesn’t escape his notice. He relaxes his grip on her arm, leaning back until she misses the heat of him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs.

Ellana freezes in hesitation. “I . . .”

Despite her misgivings, she doesn’t want this to stop. But she wants to know that it can.

“If you tell me to stop, I will,” he continues. “Do you want me to stop? Answer the question.”

Ellana licks her lips. “ . . .no.”

“Good,” he whispers, “because I don’t.”

And then he presses his body back against her, grinding his erection against her ass, releasing the grip on her wrist so he can cup her breasts ( _ finally _ ). His lips find the shell of her ear, teeth closing in on it and tugging just as he pinches sharply on her nipples.

Ellana can’t stop the hitching whine that escapes her, her clit throbbing with need. It worsens as he licks down to the hinge of her jaw and sucks, giving her matching marks on the other side of her neck. It takes very little time for him to reduce her to a squirming, gasping,  _ soaked _ mess. Only her stubborn, Dalish pride keep her from begging him to touch her or fuck her.

Instead she reaches her hands down and around and grabs his belt loops, pulling him tightly against her ass as she grinds it back against the hard length of him.

He inhales sharply against her ear before he spins her roughly back around to face him.

“You don’t listen do you?” he growls hand reaching down to his waist.

The sound of creaking leather, of the rustling of fabric. The clink of metal. He’s undoing his belt.

“Or perhaps, you don’t want to. Perhaps you want to be  _ made _ to. Perhaps all this time you’ve been begging for someone to put you in your place.”

Ellana sucks in a sharp gasp as he gathers her wrists together and wraps the belt around them and tightens the clasp. The sight is too morbidly captivating for her to even think of fighting him off. She can only watch, biting her lip, as he gives her just enough give to ensure she doesn’t lose feeling and that’s it.

Then he pulls her hands up over her head by the strap.

“As I said,” he breathes against her ear, crowding her against the drywall, “ _ you do not touch _ .”

His other hand slips down to cup her breast. “But I do.”

He ghosts his thumb over her nipple, eyeing the way her nipple stiffens into a sharp peak the way Solas looked at the Elven mural he uncovered – hungry and fascinated in equal measure. Ellana fights not to squirm as he explores her body in light, careful caresses.

She needs more. She needs rough-handed acknowledgment. She needs undeniable proof that he chose not to resist her. That she drives him just as mad as he drives her. That she is worthy of his loss of control.

“Scared to touch me?” she breathes.

His gaze jerks back to hers, a challenge gleaming in it.

“Afraid to be touched by me?” he murmurs. “I imagine you’re not often at someone’s complete and utter mercy.”

He brushes over her nipple again, smirking at the huff of frustration that slips out, before tweaking it sharply in his fingers.

Her clit throbs with a sudden burst of pleasure-pain and a moan bursts from her lips before she can stop it.

“Ah. Not afraid.  _ Desperate _ .”

Her pride flares sharply at the unbearable smug tone of his.

“I am not  _ desperate _ ,” she hisses.

“Is that right?”

He shoves her roughly back around to face the wall, her forearms braced against the drywall over her head. He crowds her again, giving her no room to push back, no leverage to free herself.

His fingers hook into the elastic waistband of her leggings and yanks them down, along with her underwear, to her knees. Then his thigh slips between her thighs and presses up against her aching center while his hand reaches around to slide a finger roughly over her clit.

Ellana has nothing to muffle the long, certainly desperate sounding keening that drags from her throat.

“As I thought,” he says, but she notices with satisfaction the ragged edge in his voice.

It’s torture, caught like this between the hard press of his thigh, the texture of his slacks against her sensitive flesh maddening, and slick movements of his thumb against her soaked folds. And he makes it worse by bringing his other hand up to knead and grope her breasts with none of the softness from earlier.

“Did you expect this would happen, Lavellan, when you bared yourself to me? You should have. All those times you waltzed around this house in just your bra and you didn’t think I noticed? You have driven me  _ mad _ these last few weeks and now I will have my revenge.”

And delivers on that dark promise for all its worth. His hands roam up and down her torso like he wants to memorize every inch of her, squeezing her breasts, pinching at her nipples until she’s gasping against the drywall, scraping his manicured nails down her stomach before sliding them over her clit.

It drives every rational thought from her head and then it wears down on her stubborn, Dalish pride until she has to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood just to keep herself from begging him to fuck her or make her cum. Even so, a slow, steady whine builds up in her throat and leaks out in short little whimpers as he brings her close to the edge before pulling away elsewhere.

Finally, after an eternity or five minutes, she just can’t  _ take _ it anymore.

“Are you going to stay a coward or are you going to  _ fuck me _ ,” she growls.

His hand stills between her breasts for a moment before sliding up to twist in her ponytail, forcing her head back.

“ _ What _ did you say?” he hisses against her ear.

“Are. You. Going. To.  _ Fuck. Me,”  _ she says through gritted teeth. “Or are you just all talk?”

He releases her instantly, and steps away as if she burned him. Was that too far? Did he really have no intention of finishing this? But then she hears the rustle of fabric behind her and she has just enough time to bring her aching arms down to her chest before bare knees knock her legs wider apart, his fingers clutching her waist and then –

All the breath knocks out of her as he sinks deeply into her. She’s so wet, so pathetically desperate for him, that it’s a smooth slide from tip to base. But its been a while – a  _ long while _ – since Ellana last had sex and the sudden, aching fullness sends her fingernails clawing down the wall.

He gives her no time to adjust before he pulls out and snaps his hips back against her.

She bites her forearm to muffle her scream, but the sounds still echo around them.

Abelas gathers her up in his arms, pulling her away from the wall. One arm locks tight around her waist while the other wraps around her throat – light enough that she can swallow but tight enough that he will feel every moan and desperate whine she tries to swallow down. He fucks her with the same hard, punishing edge of his words when they argue, every hot, lean inch of him pressed against her back and legs.

“Does this satisfy you,  _ Ellana _ ?” he says raggedly against her ear. The sound of her name in his voice sends goosebumps down her arms. “Or should I throw you down on the floor?”

Flashes of  _ that _ suggestion send another moan vibrating in her throat but she can’t find the words to express what she wants – she can’t even find the  _ thought capacity. _ All she can do is stand there and take whatever Abelas wants to give her and the thought of it both infuriates her and makes her weak at the knees.

Abelas must not want to move either, for he remains the wall of heat plastered against her back, his ragged breathing against her neck. She can’t come from penetration alone but there is something intensely satisfying at how deeply he fills her, at the slide of him against her slick and aching skin, fulfilling a need she didn’t realize she had.

And the knowledge that she broke him, that he’s wanted her this _badly_ and it wasn’t just her, that his cold exterior has cracked to send him fucking her with all the messy, reckless abandon he would normally hate himself for – that's the most satisfying of all.

She treasures each broken, ragged nose against her ear until he pulls out suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on her for just a moment before shoving her around to face him. A flush paints his pale complexion from the tips of his ears to the bottom of his ribcage but she only catches glimpse of it before he presses himself up against her, face buried against her hair.

He breathes her name in a low, stuttering groan as ropes of hot cum spurt up her stomach and chest.

It’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard.

They both stand there, catching their breath, for a long moment. His cum cools and slips down her skin and she has the brief and wild thought of wiping herself clean with the infamous shirt that started this.

Then Abelas pulls away. She expects his smooth, icy control to return now that he’s gotten his satisfaction but the hot edge of his gaze tells her he definitely has not finished with her yet.

He brushes his fingers unbearably lightly over her soaked slit, sending pleasure fizzling through her with all the strength of a sparkler when she needs an explosion.

“Are you still aching for release?” he whispers.

“Yes,” she hisses.

“Do you want me to give it to you?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

Godsdamn him, yes she fucking does. She would do anything right now to get off.

He presses a soft kiss beside her ear. “Then beg me for it, Ellana.”

Anything but that.

“Go fuck yourself,” she bites out.

He chuckles soft and low against her ear, sending another wave of goosebumps down her arm. “I already have. It’s you who needs that order. Now are you going to beg for me or are you a  _ coward? _ ”

This motherfucking bastard. She has to admire it even as she hates him bitterly for it.

Her teeth tug at her lip as she wrestles with herself until finally she turns her head to the side until her lips brush against his cheek.

“ _ Sathan, rosad’an deva,”  _ she whispers. “ _ Sathan _ .”

_ Please make me cum. Please _ .

His fingers tighten against her shoulder. It’s a risk using Elvhen, reminding him of a connection between them he would rather deny.

But then he slides down to his knees, spreads her thighs apart, and buries his tongue in her cunt.

This time Ellana doesn’t bother muffling her scream. His infuriating mouth works infuriating wonders on her throbbing clit until she shatters and breaks against him, just as he did to her.

It takes very little time, a fact she is sure he will be unbearably smug about. Indeed, she can see a smirk gleaming in his eyes as he straightens up, wiping his mouth with his hand in a gesture that should not be as hot as it is.

“ _ Mar’rosa diran _ ,” he tells her.

_ You taste delicious _ .

And out of everything that’s happened since he kissed her,  _ that _ ’s what sends the blush up the tip of her ears. Her eyes dart from his face and the intensity of his gaze to the shirt that lies crumbled on the floor of the kitchen.

“You should go clean up,” he tells her quietly. “As will I.”

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “Yeah, definitely. This was . . .um . . .”

But he ignores her awkward flailing, stepping away to pull his pants back up with a slight wince before turning his back on her. She watches him head back to the kitchen and pick up the shirt from the floor.

He brings it, briefly, to his nose, as if trying to smell her.

And then he disappears into his bedroom without another glance.

  
  
  
  


Abelas makes himself scarce the rest of the evening. Ellana wants to do nothing more than beat down his bedroom door and demand attention like some kind of a brat, but she has too much pride. Gods only knows what having rough, fun sex is doing to his tightly coiled, robot brain. She’s just strangely worried he’s going to hate her for it.

As if he doesn’t have a hundred other reasons to hate her.

That used to be a badge of pride, but now the thought makes her rather . . .dejected.

The next morning Ellana creeps into the kitchen to already see Abelas awake and chopping a fresh tomato.

“Good morning,” she ventures, taking a cautious step onto the tile.

He jerks at the sight of her, the knife slipping to nick his thumb. The knife clatters to the floor as he hisses in pain. Ellana takes hurried steps over to him before she can think, turning the water on in the sink and grabbing his hand to shove it under the stream of cool water.

“I’m fine,” he protests.

“Let me see anyway.”

He does not fight her, to her surprise. Droplets of blood well out of a small cut, but nothing so terrible a band aid can’t fix it. Ellana fishes one out of the first aid kit Solas keeps on top of the fridge.

“Wash your hands and dry them,” she tells him.

Abelas obeys her without question – dear gods above, did yesterday really break him?

Once he has finished, he also allows her to take his hand and wrap the band aid around his thumb without comment. It’s a strangely intimate thing to do for someone. Ellana stands close enough to smell his cologne and it triggers memories from the day before.

She swallows and releases his hand – but Abelas does not step away.

"Serah Lavellan -- " he starts

"Oh?” her eyebrows raise. “What happened to Ellana?"

He flinches at the memory of his hot voice rumbling in her ear.

"I -- Yesterday was not --"

She covers his mouth with her hand and the flash of his old fury sparks in his eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence, Abelas."

He pulls her hand away but does not let go."I owe you an apology --"

"No, you don't. Nothing happened yesterday that I didn't want to happen. And if you're so disgusted at the fact that you had sex with a lowly county Dalish girl like me, you can keep that shit to yourself."

"I'm not disgusted," he says quietly. " . . .Are you not? You loathe me, deeply."

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "If I really hated you, I would have just decked you, left you with a bloody nose and a black eye, and then just fucked off to Dorian's place."

"So your constant aggravation is not burning hatred?"

"No. It's fun."

"Fun?" he gives her a deeply inscrutable look. "So I was right about you last night?"

_ I think you're begging for someone to put you in your place _

A blush heats the tips of her ears. "I - it's just -- I mean. Most people back down when I get in their face. I like that you don't."

“I see.”

Does he? This dynamic, in all its fucked up weirdness, gives Ellana something she doesn’t have with anyone else. It would suck to lose it. 

“You asked me once why I provoked you,” she says. “I’m not just bored. It's the only time you remember I exist. I . . .like your attention.”

She swallows, feeling more starkly vulnerable than she did begging him to make her cum yesterday. But his fingers slip between hers. 

“There are other ways to receive it,” he tells her quietly. 

“Like stripping for you?”

A faint blush blooms on his pale cheeks. 

“Should I knock on your door and take my clothes off when you open it,” she continues wickedly.

“That’s one way to go about it,” he says, sounding faintly strangled. “Perhaps we . . .can find others. If you would like.”

She offers him a smile, fragile and hopeful and a little mischievous. “I would like.”

_ Dear Solas, _

_ Your weird, asshole friend and I had our reckoning. It’s not quite the same as the one we had. But I think it worked. You were right, there is something tolerable about him underneath all the layers of dickhead. So the odds of you finding us both alive and your house not under a crime scene investigation have dropped considerably. :) _

_ Enjoy the rest of your summer and I can’t wait to see you when you get back! _

_ Your friend, _

_ Ellana _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I looooove modern au's! Thank you for giving me this option, this fic was a blast to write.


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